Insert Working Title Here
by morgyse
Summary: No way. Me, updating? The name of this baby is changing soon. "Harry Potter and the Phoenix-y Order" Update your links to the fic with THEMES. And there will be new chapters!
1. New Places

"Harry Potter and the Phoenix-y Order"  
  
PG-13 because I like to curse in my author notes. The story is clean.  
  
Target Audience: "Veteran" fanfic readers- meaning those of you who've been here a long while, and who are jaded from the typical Potter fanfic. Not that mine is Mein-Gott!-unique, it's just the ideas of someone who's been around Potter fics for a long time, and who knows what annoys her and know what new things she wants to see in OotP (Order of the Phoenix). He he: "ootp".  
  
Chapter 1: New Places  
  
Disclaimer: Wakanda is mine. The Green Letter is mine. That's...it in this chapter. Would WB actually sue anybody on FF.net if they forgot to put a disclaimer?  
  
Author's Note: I figured that if I called my fic what J.K. intends to call the fifth book, my fic would get lost among all the other Orders of the Phoenix, so I got creative. Gods save us. The inspiration for the intro paragraphs to this story came from me being half asleep and trying to perceive what was going on around me at the same time, which I have decided is a highly recommended way of jump starting your neuro-cognitive thingy when you have writers' block. So here it is, my version of the fifth book. I actually did as much research as one can before writing a Potter fic. This is a bit more omniscient than J.K.'s books. I also don't go into explanations, so if you haven't read the Potter books, don't read this because I'll probably lose you very early on. I'm doing this because if you assume your readers know what's going on, why waste their time with explanations/introductions? (Or long-winded author notes while I think of it, but that isn't the point. It's almost over.) Thanks to Mom, J.K., all my favorite music groups- U2, Suzanne Vega, Chemical Brothers, etc.- for being there in the background, and especially to FF.net, and to all you beautiful people out there who are going to tell me SPECIFICALLY what is wrong with this story so I can fix it. Oh, yes, and a special thanks to the beautiful and charismatic Ms. Idaho...no, wait a minute. Huge gigantic thanks to my dear friend/beta-reader-goddess "Alice" and her eternal support and witful discussion AND to Chris the sex god who also beta-ed. And to Mom, who also beta-ed. Christ, maybe I'm working on perfecting this story a bit too much.  
  
Final Note: I respond to reviews! If you say "Sentence 3 in paragraph 400 of chapter 39 seems uncomfortable because Ron sounds too heady", then I will go look at sentence 3 in paragraph 400 of chapter 39 and if you're right I'll change it! Critique/flame your hearts out! Now on to the God damned story!  
  
  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
As you well know, the wizard community of Britain has suffered greatly in this century at the hands of Dark Wizards. The darkest and most destructive of these wizards was also the most recent to plague us.  
  
After fourteen years, many people have been able to reconstruct their lives and forget about the existence of He-who-must-not-be-named. The Ministry of Magic has encouraged this in hopes of rebuilding the wizard world. While it was important to restore our world during that time in order to remain hidden from those without magic, recent events mandate that we not let the Dark Lord become He-who-gained-power-a-second-time-because-we-don't-even- speak-his-name-and-standing-up-to-him-seems-basically-out-of-the-question. We would like to inform all our current and future readers that the Dark Lord has regained power through the help of a complicated spell preformed by his followers, the Death Eaters. We ask that you not bombard the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore, with owls trying to confirm this. Dumbledore has openly told this to his students and first reported these happenings to us. It is true, and we repeat:  
  
the Dark Lord has been returned to his former body and power.  
  
We also ask readers not to try to confirm this with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, who is apparently trying to keep quiet this admittedly shocking and potentially dangerous information in the Daily Prophet and abroad. Fortunately, there is still a publishing available to readers who are willing to accept the harsh truth. The Green Letter has been in existence for nearly two decades, and was included in the Evening Prophet in the dark days of He-who-must-not-be- named. When He disappeared, the Green Letter had little to follow since there were no Dark Wizards, and it was excluded from the Prophet. There were few who followed it. Because of recent developments, we both advise and appreciate your subscription to the Green Letter so that you will always be posted on His actions and believed whereabouts. We hope that you will consider a subscription, and wish you happiness and safety all of your days.  
  
Faithfully,  
  
Armina Riehlman  
  
  
  
Harry Potter snorted into his grapefruit: "Admittedly shocking and potentially dangerous information" indeed. He supposed it wasn't prudent to accuse the Ministry of Magic of censorship, but the obvious attempt of the letter writer to both tell the truth and stay on the good side of the law amused Harry. He pulled an order form out of the envelope and got a pen from a cup in the living room.  
  
Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, grunted disapprovingly. Harry's aunt, uncle and cousin were all sitting around the kitchen table eating breakfast. Though most people liked getting mail at this hour, the Dursleys certainly did not like it that Harry was getting mail at all. They didn't appreciate either the owl that was sitting on their table staring pointedly at Harry's grapefruit.  
  
"Go ahead," Harry urged it, and it pecked gratefully as Harry filled out the form to receive the Green Letter. He finished the form about the time the owl had finished the only breakfast he could expect from the Dursleys as his cousin Dudley was on a diet. The oddity of Harry not eating because Dudley was on a diet was far from an oddity in the Dursley's house.  
  
Harry gave the form to the owl. It flew out the window Harry had opened to let it in, and Harry got up to close the window. When he returned to the table, everyone was glaring at him.  
  
"I don't want to see any more of those foul birds at the table," Uncle Vernon growled. Aunt Petunia was viciously scrubbing the table when the owl had been. Harry subtly raised an eyebrow at his aunt's obsessive nature.  
  
"All right. I'll leave them at the window from now on. The neighbors may see them, but that's a consequence we'll just have to accept," Harry said impishly to his uncle.  
  
"Go to your cupboard- room!" Uncle Vernon angrily corrected himself. He had told Harry to go to his cupboard for eleven years, and it was obvious that he had preferred keeping Harry in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry did not protest his fate. His little grapefruit had been violently maimed and, for the most part, devoured by the owl. Also, conversations with his guardians and cousin never quite attained the level of "fun" or "enjoyable".  
  
Harry locked his door and turned to his desk. He had a fruit basket there from the Weasleys, as well as some Bulgarian food sent to him from Hermione, and, of course, assorted birthday cakes from everyone. His friends did not hold with Aunt Petunia's idea that tiny Harry should diet alongside elephantine Dudley.  
  
Peeling the skin off an orange, Harry began again on his griffin essay for Hagrid. It wasn't going too well because Harry's school books didn't cover all the topics that Hagrid had asked them to write about. The authors of the text books obviously did not believe most students would need to write three paragraphs on how to prepare food for ailing griffins that might just happen to show up on one's doorstep. Harry needed more books. He wondered if he could request a book from the Flourish and Blotts bookstore, but he would probably need an order form for that. Even so, he still didn't have the means receiving the book; Hedwig was delivering a letter to Hermione, who was visiting Viktor Krum. Harry had a fleeting thought to use the Internet, but as Dudley had never let him on his computer, Harry didn't know how to use it. And he didn't think that wizards used the Internet. Perhaps they had an alternative, but Harry wasn't aware of it. What was he supposed to do?  
  
Well, he would feel like he was accomplishing something if he at least found and filled out an order form. He flipped to the back of his Care of Magical Creatures book, and found a paper that advertised Wakanda Library- "Every magical publication ever printed. Back copies of every paper or magazine, preserved manuscripts. Great for students." Harry read further, and the ad said patrons could get there by Floo powder, Apparition, or by poking a little red dot on the advertisement itself. Immediately, Harry crammed his essay writing necessities into his bag, and poked the dot.  
  
Whoosh! It's a Portkey, his mind told him before he hit a large mattress that cushioned his fall, saving his ink bottle from certain death. Harry found himself standing in an immense room with a glass ceiling. There were giant brown bookcases twice as tall as Hagrid, and old-fashioned ladders that rolled along them so that one could attain any book. Witches and wizards were bustling everywhere, trying to be quiet. Harry recognized Madame Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, shushing people nearby. Perhaps this was her summer job.  
  
"Excuse me," he said to her- quietly.  
  
"Mr. Potter," she said, regarding him in austere shock. "Why are you not at your Aunt and Uncle's house?"  
  
"I needed information for an essay for school and I saw an sign for this library. Is something wrong?"  
  
"No. No, Mr. Potter, of course not." She didn't sound nervous, but she wasn't reassuring either.  
  
"Did something happen? Ron-" Madame Pince was making him uneasy, but she cut him off.  
  
"As far as I know, your friends are fine. But, well, with You-Know-Who coming back I should think you would be more careful." She looked down at him disapprovingly.  
  
"Looks safe here," Harry remarked. Madame Pince sighed curtly and impatiently, and then looked down at him again.  
  
"There's a card catalog over there." She pointed. "Alert myself or another librarian if you think you're being...followed, or anything of the sort."  
  
"I will," Harry reassured her, and went in look of sources.  
  
When Harry had finished his essay, he meandered about looking at all the books. He wondered if Hermione knew about this place. The thing he liked best about it, beyond the glass ceiling and quaint, rolling ladders, was the smell. One could almost taste the gentle decay of the paper. Eventually, around eleven o' clock, Harry started to get hungry- having had only little bits of grapefruit and orange to eat thus far that day. There weren't any food stalls, ostensibly because librarians were afraid the patrons might get food on the books. Harry went to the information desk.  
  
"Er, how do I...get home?" Harry asked a man behind the counter, feeling rather stupid for not having thought about this previously.  
  
"The Floo fires are over there." The man pointed kindly to several very obvious fireplaces where wizards and witches were lining up to go home.  
  
"My house isn't...er, hooked up to the Floo network," Harry said.  
  
"Muggle born?" The wizard asked benignly. Harry tipped his head down so his scar wouldn't be noticeable and told the man "yes" to simplify things.  
  
"Well, do you have any friends' houses you could go to using Floo?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess." Harry hoped the Weasleys wouldn't think he was imposing. The wizard seemed to know his concern.  
  
"People get used to other wizards popping up in their homes without notice. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Okay." Before the man turned to the next person in line, a thought crossed Harry's mind, and he asked, "How did I get here? I mean, how did that spell with the dot work? I thought Portkeys were timed."  
  
The wizard smiled. "There are different forms of Portkey, aren't there? Some are timed, others are used in place of Apparition, like the one we use. Nice little spell, though a bit too advanced for a student, I'd say. Hogwarts is even spelled so you can't make Portkeys to it, but I'm sure you know that." Harry thanked him, and went over to the Floo fire lines. Then, after only being there for a few moments, he went to the card catalog, found what he was looking for and finally checked out "Hogwarts: A History". Hermione would be so proud.  
  
* * *  
  
The librarian had been right; the Weasleys certainly weren't affronted or upset when Harry turned up in their fireplace. "Look, mum, let Harry spend the night, and we'll send Dumbledore an owl asking if he can stay the rest of the summer." Ron's suggestion had gone over well among the Weasley children, but their mother had insisted on taking Harry back to the Dursleys.  
  
"Dumbledore has his reasons for wanting Harry to stay there, I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley had said. "Fred, go get me your father's old boots from the hall closet- just one will do." She quickly created a Portkey, which was fairly easy for adult wizards and witches to make as they had to be mass- produced for events like the Quidditch World Cups. Luckily for them, Harry had a piece of carpet thread from the Dursley's living room stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and Mrs. Weasley used that to define the Portkey's destination.  
  
They said farewell to the Weasleys, and Mrs. Weasley poked the Portkey with her wand. Though Harry felt it tug at his stomach the way the Portkeys he had used before did, this one did not behave the way other Portkeys had. This one did not take them to their predetermined destination. Where they ended up, Harry could only assume that they were about five miles away from his house, on a residential street that looked similar to that of the Dursleys'.  
  
"What happened?" he asked Mrs. Weasley, who looked just as confused as he did. They both cried out when they felt their hands being sharply twisted behind their backs, but there seemed to be no thing or being touching them.  
  
"Who are you and what do you think you're doing trying to get into Harry Potter's house?" The voice was gruff with age and definitely belonged to a woman- a witch. For it had to be magic that was holding them  
  
Mrs. Weasley and Harry twisted their heads, but could see no one.  
  
"Oh, it's you. Molly Weasley?" Mrs. Weasley nodded, very confused. "Bringing him home?" The disembodied voice asked sharply. Mrs. Weasley nodded again. Their arms were released from the spell that had held them. "Put your hands out," the voice commanded, and Harry still couldn't place it. They both extended their hands toward the voice, which may not have been the wisest thing to do, but they felt gnarled, cold, old-people hands grasp theirs, and were instantly transported to the Dursley's living room. "Sorry about that," said the voice. "Can't take any risks though."  
  
"What..." Harry started in a whisper, but stopped because he knew that Mrs. Weasley didn't know either. Dudley wandered into the room, where Harry and Mrs. Weasley and the Invisible Senile Wonder stood. Dudley looked confused to see someone standing with Harry. Then, making the assumption that Harry only kept company with a certain type of people- which was admittedly quite clever of him- he ran out of the room, one hand on his backside and the over his mouth.  
  
Mrs. Weasley was confused by this, having never met Dudley, but she dismissed it as routine Muggle oddity, and turned to Harry.  
  
"Dumbledore has told me that you're safe here. Maybe the person who brought us here is watching out for you. I do wish you could come stay with us, and we'll see when it gets closer to school time. We'll definitely pick you up to go to Hogwarts." There was a little pop, and Mrs. Weasley and the disembodied voice left.  
  
The Weasleys had sent Dumbledore an owl immediately asking if Harry could come visit them. Dumbledore agreed that Harry could come for the last week before school, meaning that Harry's sentence at the Dursley's was not a long one. A Ministry wizard came out to the Weasley's house and got Mrs. Weasley's permission to perform several spells to make the house particularly safe from Dark Wizards. Harry mentioned briefly that he would be leaving to Uncle Vernon, who perhaps did not hear him, and certainly did not care. 


	2. Hi, friends....

Okay, I feel obligated to tell you all that I am in the process of writing the "shitty first draft" of this story so that I'll actually have a plot. I'll e-mail you when the actual second chapter is up, because after that, the rest will follow in rapid succession. Until then, please enjoy (and review if you feel so inclined- no obligation, though) my Lord of the Rings song bit- I believe it's called a "song filk", but I don't know from where the "filk" bit comes so I'll just say "song bit". It attempts to answer the question of why there are so freaking few women in the LotR books, and also where those silly Entwives got off too, leaving the poor guys with only themselves, and I'm sure no one out there wants to have to see a tree beat off. Then again, they're all guys, so surely there's a bit of slash fanfiction on this site about the Ents. I mean, we're the FF.net community; we write slash about every genre on the freaking face of the planet and then some.  
  
Disclaimer: Peter, Paul, and Mary rock! This statement is   
A. Incorrect, because they play folk music.  
B. Correct, because they own the rights to their songs and I don't. Don't sue me.   
  
Note: Uruk is short for uruk-hai, for those who aren't familiar with LotR. Uruk-hai are super orcs, for those not familiar with LotR. Orcs are nasty bad guys, for those not familiar with LotR. "LotR" stands for Lord of the Rings, for those not familiar with LotR.  
  
Where have all the women gone, long time passing?  
Where have all the women gone, long time ago?  
Where have all the women gone? Dotcoms that hire them, every one.  
Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?  
Where have all the dotcoms gone, long time passing?  
Where have all the dotcoms gone, long time ago?  
Where have all the dotcoms gone? Burnt by uruks, every one.  
Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?  
Where have all the uruks gone, long time passing?  
Where have all the uruks gone, long time ago?  
Where have all the uruks gone? Gone to graveyards, every one.  
Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?  
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time passing?  
Where have all the graveyards gone, long time ago?  
Where have all the graveyards gone? Run by Entwives, every one.  
Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?  
Where have all the Entwives gone, long time passing?  
Where have all the Entwives gone, long time ago?  
Where have all the Entwives gone? Turned to women, every one.  
Oh, when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?  
Where have all the women gone....? 


	3. Retunings and Turnings

Chapter 2: Returning and Turnings  
  
Disclaimer: I own The Green Letter and Wakanda Library. That's it. Draco is mine! *Big people in suits come and drag morgyse off Draco while J.K. glares at her* But he's so beautiful! Okay, so I don't own Draco. How about Snape? *J.K. shakes a fist, and morgyse goes quietly back to her writing. * Oh, and for all you non-Brits out there like me, they have a product in the U.K. called "sellotape", so three cheers for J.K. who is wittier than we can even begin to imagine. Chapter 1 has been updated- not too different, but the Green Letter's editor is now a female, for those of you who have been reading this story since I first posted. I now have a plot, and hopefully new chapters will come faster. I must finish before the real thing come out!  
  
On August 25, at 11:00 in the morning, a sleek back car with two ornate "M"s entwined in a circle of stars as a hood ornament, and MOM23 - which nearly ruined the professional appearance of it - on it's license plate rolled up to number 4 Privet Drive. A man who said very little rang the door bell, and expertly carried Harry Potter's trunk to the car. He opened the door for Harry, closed it when he got in, and then wordlessly drove him to the Burrow. Harry was looking forward to the Weasley's company after the depressingly quiet ride that had provided him with an opportunity to think about the end of fourth year, which he didn't appreciate at all. The events from that graveyard felt like a rock that had been spellotaped to Harry's head all summer.  
  
He tried to purge the relentless images from his mind by squeezing his eyes shut and shifting his center of gravity to and fro, but strangely neither seemed to help. He was out of the car like a projectile when it rolled into the Weasley's drive.  
  
The twins were sitting in the yard. Fred was reading aloud from a book, and George was staring very intently at a nearby chicken as though expecting or hoping it would suddenly burst in to flames.  
  
"'...one must picture the exact spot in one's mind. It is suggested to picture the place of arrival in both a vague and detailed way.' What are they on about, George?" Fred asked. "Oh hello, Harry." George snapped out of his reverie.  
  
"Oh, hiya Harry. Didn't hear you pull up." George waved merrily at the limousine driver, who was walking toward them with Harry's trunk.  
  
"Where do you want this, Mr. Potter?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"I'll take it the rest of the way, thanks," Harry replied. The man scowled, but put the trunk down. Harry wasn't particularly fond of his presence. The man looked appraisingly at the Burrow.  
  
"Tip him," murmured Fred to Harry.  
  
"What? Oh yeah." Harry dug around in his trunk for his money bag. "How much?" he muttered back to Fred. When the limousine driver realized what was going on, he embarrassedly mumbled something about that not being necessary and drove away.  
  
Fred blinked curiously at the driver, and then turned back to Harry. "Honestly Harry, you associate with the weirdest people. GEORGE, WILL YOU STOP STARING AT THAT CHICKEN!" Fred suddenly shouted, startling both Harry and George quite a lot.  
  
"I was trying to get an idea for Wizard Wheezes," George explained. "All this learning is making it hard to think."  
  
"There, there, George darling." Fred patted his brother's hand. "Soon you'll be back at school, and then you won't be learning anything, I promise."  
  
"Thank you, Fred dear," George sniffed, and Fred took him in a tender embrace.  
  
"How is Weasley's Wizard Wheezes going?" Harry asked because he couldn't decide whether to laugh or be frightened by the twin's antics.  
  
George answered as he and Fred disengaged. "It'd be going better if Mum didn't have crazy notions about us needing more sun-"  
  
"Malignant sun," Fred said, shaking his fist at the heavens.  
  
"-and more O.W.L.'s," George finished his sentence.  
  
"Inimical O.W.L.'s," Fred growled, cracking his knuckles menacingly.  
  
"We're stuck out here reading," George explained. "Plus, we still haven't heard from Bagman about setting us up with Zonko's like he promised. Then again he's rather on the lam for gambling debts, so I don't think we should be expecting to hear from him for a bit."  
  
"Come inside," Fred invited, dropping his angry pretense. "Mum will want to see you, and if she forgets to send us back outside we can show you our newest bit of Wheezes' inventory. She doesn't know about it yet, so George and I may have a few days left in which to enjoy ourselves while she's deciding on how best to conceal the evidence of our imminent murder." Fred scooped up the book on Apparition, and the three of them raced each other to the door, leaving Harry's trunk in the yard. When Harry remembered his trunk and came out to get it later, the garden gnomes had discovered it, and had deified it- making it their apparent God of the Harvest. They were throwing gnome garlands everywhere, and it took all the Weasleys and Harry a very noisy and unsanctified half hour to get the trunk safely inside the house.  
  
After an immensely pleasant evening, when the attempts not to talk about certain defunct Hogwarts students were not obvious, Harry lay cradled on a cot in Ron's room, staring up at the ceiling. A strange feeling of unbelievable contentment had come over him just from being at the Burrow. Being here made Harry feel like he had found a safe alcove, which he believed was a word associated mainly with doves but was the best he could do that late at night. Hogwarts felt like what he thought a home should feel like, the Dursley's was what he assumed hell must be like, and the Burrow was a haven, away from the world. Harry was consumed by an overwhelming sense of belonging and being understood. With the ghoul in the attic singing "I'm Too Sexy" and banging the piping, Harry fell into a contented sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
The following days blurred together in their pleasantness, accented only by a few colorful incidents. Percy came home one evening about the time that Harry had forfeited a chess game to Ron. Ron's bishop had "taken" Harry's rook (Harry thought that "defabricated" was a better word, but Ron said that was too unorthodox) and part of the tower had flown into Harry's eye. Harry saw Percy's face in the mirror where Harry was trying to pick the bit of wood out of his cornea. Percy looked irritable.  
  
"Hi, Perce," Ron said. "Say, can you help us?" Percy glowered, but listened to their plight and managed to get the fragment out of Harry's eye with a clever spell.  
  
"Next time, try to avoid injuring your more reputable friends, Ron," Percy sighed as he went into the kitchen to clock in with Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Harry went crimson at Percy's comment, but Ron grinned maliciously and didn't respond to the gibe as Harry thought he might. "Want to know what's got his knickers in a twist?" He asked Harry. "He hasn't got promoted since last Christmas. The new Head of Department doesn't like him, so she keeps him in an out-of-the-way job. She probably guesses that he's a fanatic. He says she's repressing his 'professional enthusiasm.'"  
  
"Didn't Percy have a girlfriend at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, remembering when Percy had been at school just a few years ago.  
  
"Yeah. I don't think he's heard from her in ages." Ron grinned again at the new thought.  
  
Harry rubbed his eye as he watched Percy trudge up the stairs. He remembered talking to Ron about Percy's ambition. What might this universal rejection drive Percy to?  
  
"Let's go throw some gnomes about, shall we?" Harry said quickly.  
  
"Uh, alright," said Ron, sensing that Harry was trying to get away from something. For Ron, it was like having someone suggest that they both go out in the forest and chop firewood, but he and Harry hurled gnomes until it became too dark to see.  
  
* * *  
  
It was only Monday, and Fred, George, Ron, and Harry had been shooed out of the house into the orchard with the irksome Apparition book. In their attempts at deciphering, they had managed to cleverly grasp what the title and by-line meant. After that, the main reactions were "You've got to be kidding me.", "It doesn't really say that, does it?" and "Skip it. Maybe it'll make sense later."  
  
"Maybe the author's never actually Apparated," Fred mused. "Or maybe he's a teacher, and this is what he wishes Apparition was like, so he could give loads of nasty tests on it."  
  
"'Wish Hermione was here. No, I wish Hermione would Apparate here, and then explain how she did it. When's she coming about anyway, Ron?" George asked.  
  
"She's meeting us on the train. She's in Bulgaria with.... She's there until the end of the summer," Ron said.  
  
"Now you tell us," George sighed.  
  
Ron shrugged. "You didn't ask," he said with a little grin, though Harry noticed the expression in his eyes was more dampened than playfully annoying.  
  
"You think Mum will notice if we started playing Quidditch?" Fred asked, studying the windows of the house to see if Mrs. Weasley was looking out at them.  
  
It turned out that she did notice, and she didn't share the twin's theory that using the Apparition book as the Quaffle was a valid way to study.  
  
* * *  
  
The night before they left for Hogwarts, the greater part of the evening was spent in the living room. Mrs. Weasley had discovered the newest bit of Wheezes inventory, and in attempts to get back on her good side, the twins were feigning a new found interest in Apparition. For his birthday, the Weasleys had bought Arthur a large framed picture that showed the Quidditch World Cup- Brazil vs. Uganda- from the year Arthur was born, and Ron, Harry, and Ginny were watching each play, controlling what they saw with spells that made the images progress, regress, or slow down in either direction.  
  
"I'm telling you, Gin, Brazil was just better," Ron insisted to Ginny.  
  
"They were not. Uganda hadn't changed their game plan in years. They were predictable. Brazil wasn't better; they'd just got a more studious coach."  
  
"I don't see the coach out there flying."  
  
"I don't see you out there flying for Gryffindor."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"All I'm saying is, it doesn't matter who you 'see out there flying'."  
  
"But, Ron doesn't study Hufflepuff's strategies for us," Harry said, turning to Ginny.  
  
"Well, now you've gone and killed my analogy, haven't you?"  
  
Her prissy statement was accompanied by a grin. She realized that actually talking with Harry was even better than admiring him from afar. (Plus, this way, her elbows remained more butter-free.) Ginny's soft expression was quickly replaced by rolled eyes as Ron chimed in with 'Uh, yeah, that's right! You've got a cruddy analogy.'  
  
"Ron, do yourself a favor and don't wander too near four syllable words," George called. "So," he returned to studiousness after a look from his mother. "You can Apparate to where certain people are?"  
  
"Yes, but it's very dangerous, and takes utmost skill. Most don't bother," said Mrs. Weasley with not too subtle implications about whether the twins should attempt it.  
  
"If," Fred began thoughtfully, "if I wanted to Apparate to where Madame Hooch was, to ask her some Quidditch questions, could I get into Hogwarts?"  
  
"I thought Hermione was always saying you can't Apparate into Hogwarts," Ron commented.  
  
"So, that'll be a thousand points to Ronny for 'Most Obvious Statement of the Year', am I right, George?"  
  
"Why do you think he asked?" George said with an incredulous twitch of his eyes.  
  
"No, boys, I don't think you could get into Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley answered. "Firstly because contrary to popular belief, teachers don't live in schools, and secondly because of what Ron was talking about. There are magical barriers around Hogwarts."  
  
"And don't tease your brother," Mrs. Weasley put in.  
  
"Thanks, Mom," said Ron loudly. "That really makes up for how you burned my face with the frying pan this morning when you were trying to kill my owl."  
  
"Well, really, darling, you shouldn't have let him out of the cage in the first place," said Mrs. Weasley coolly. Pig had gotten out that morning when Harry was putting Hedwig in. Hedwig had returned from delivering the letter to Hermione, and looked very tired and thirsty. Harry had not anticipated that trying to take proper care of his owl would lead to the Weasley's kitchen being covered in bacon confetti. Ron's face was still tender from the burn, and it didn't smell too nice from the healing salve that had been on it all day. Ron hadn't been too bitter about it though, because Hermione's letter was long and detailed. She had evidently begun writing it before Hedwig arrived, because toward the end of the third page she commented on the owl's arrival. Harry wondered how she had so much time to write considering all the places she said that she and Viktor Krum went to. There seemed to be a great many things to see in Bulgaria, but Harry didn't get the sense from the letter that Hermione was enjoying them. She didn't talk very much about Krum, which Ron found merciful and Harry found odd. She lamented the difficulty of finding the schoolbooks she needed in Bulgaria, and explained that she had to send away for many of them. She looked forward to returning to Hogwarts and seeing Ron and Harry on the train. There was more, and Ron had read the letter several times over before depositing it under his pillow.  
  
"I just hope my face heals up in the night," Ron muttered to Harry and Ginny as the others went back to talking about Apparition.  
  
"As do I," Ginny whispered, wrinkling her nose at the smell.  
  
"Ron, don't hex your sister," came Mrs. Weasley's automatic response to the tussle that broke out in the far corner of the living room.  
  
* * *  
  
The morning of September 1st, Ginny found Ron sitting in a tree in the orchard. The "orchard" was not one of those impersonal monstrosities of trees in militant rows. The orchard was mostly open space, dotted with six apple trees and only about five other trees that didn't really bear fruit. There were some blackberry bushes that formed the border on the side away from the house, but there was little else, making it an exceptional Weasley Quidditch Pitch.  
  
When Ginny heard Ron's steps on the stairs (She could tell each of her family members apart by their footfalls- including Fred and George.) she followed him, mainly because she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Hearing rather than seeing Ron leave the house, Ginny peeked out a window into the backyard. The sun peeked back, shy but amicably orange. By the time Ginny encountered her brother, the sun had gotten too arrogant, and she could no longer look at it directly. "Well, nobody else can afford to be playful in these times either," she thought.  
  
Ron was sitting as high as he could comfortably get in one of the four good climbing trees in the orchard. He was barefooted and his feet were wet from the dew. He nursed a splinter out of his big toe, and wrapped the leg around a branch to steady himself.  
  
"'Morning," he nodded to Ginny, who stood at the bottom of the tree in bare, wet feet as well.  
  
"Something wake you?" Ginny yawned.  
  
"Me," Ron answered, and Ginny nodded, too tired to appreciate his humor, and still a little sore from having her Weasley red hair hexed to butter- yellow the night before. "Mum won't be up for another hour or so?" Ron asked.  
  
"That's right," Ginny answered, wiggling her toes in the wet grass. Ron nodded and looked east.  
  
"How's Harry?" Ginny asked. She didn't look at Ron, but she had no reason to be embarrassed. Ron knew how she felt about Harry- actually, everyone knew how she felt about Harry. She wasn't revealing obscure secrets by openly showing some concern over his welfare.  
  
"We don't talk about it," Ron informed. Ginny understood that he meant the Triwizard Disaster.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" she prompted. "Do you think he feels guilty about Cedric?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You're worried about him," Ginny inferred. Ron shrugged, but not dismissively. He shrugged inarticulately. His sex did not allow him to talk about the concern and dread with which he pondered the lives of Harry, Hermione, the Dark Lord, his family, and sometimes, if there was any worry left over, himself.  
  
And Ginny shrugged too, because her sex required raw, vulnerable feelings, desperate midnight chats, and words. And words failed Ron. Words wouldn't mean what he would try to make them say, because Ron did not know how to harness and steer words. His articulation was a defective dogsled; he could go nowhere because he could not catch the husky powers he needed to begin to move.  
  
Ginny, however, knew eloquence. Eloquence shifted, contingent on situation. Eloquence, at this moment, had nothing to do with gender. With sibling articulation, Ginny climbed the tree, sat on the branch just lower than Ron's, and fell back asleep with her head against her brother's leg.  
  
Well, perhaps her action had more to do with how tired she was instead of how eloquent she was, but nevertheless it made Ron feel better. Mrs. Weasley caught him red handed with a smile on his face when she came to call them in for breakfast. 


	4. Homeward to Hogwarts

Chapter 3: Homeward to Hogwarts  
  
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everyone in this story except Ilana Wogny. Kat Nott is my character, but I can't take full credit for her because careful readers of the first book know that Mr. Nott has a kid at school. I hope she turns out to be more than just my excuse to get Draco a decent girlfriend, but I don't know; I haven't written the story yet.  
  
Draco Malfoy casually leaned against the wall of the station with the smoke of the Hogwarts Express curling overhead. His parents were mingling with important people as though they were at one of their summer parties. Draco was currently watching the people who entered Platform 9 3/4, and having about as much fun as he had experienced over the summer at the planned social affairs with his parents. The barrier was breached again and Draco's eyes flicked automatically to the two figures that had just meandered through the wrought iron gate. It was Edwin Nott and his daughter Kat. Kat's eyes traveled slowly over the crowd. They rested on Draco, and he glanced away briefly. Kat was a quiet, unnerving person, and her dark, glassy eyes were a main factor in the disconcerting manner about her.  
  
"Something definitely strange about her," Mr. Nott was commenting to his daughter.  
  
"I'm sure she's just tired. She's got to be quite an actress to have convinced Dumbledore's lot of her loyalty," Kat replied.  
  
"True," her father agreed, "And she doesn't seem the type to turn traitor. Do you want me to wait with you until the train leaves?"  
  
"It doesn't matter either way," came the girl's phlegmatic response.  
  
"I'm off to speak with Lucius, then. Why don't you go converse with the younger Mr. Malfoy, how's that?" Nott suggested as he strode off.  
  
"Sounds lovely, Daddy," she told her father's departing back, the enthusiasm in her voice dead before it could live. Kat pushed her cart toward Draco, her face showing boredom and resignation.  
  
"Would the upright and noble 'younger Mr. Malfoy' deign to talk, or is my father too lowly a Death Eater?" Kat said in her quiet mockery.  
  
"I'm sure allowances can be made," Draco drawled. "Who were you and your lowly father discussing?"  
  
"Ilana Wogny. Did you see her on the Muggle side of the barrier?"  
  
"Wasn't paying attention," Draco said glancing around the platform again.  
  
"You'll know that she's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Apparently she out there keeping the students safe from the Dark Lord and his followers." Kat smiled sardonically as though it was a joke.  
  
"Do you think Dumbledore doesn't know she was nearly a Death Eater?" Draco nobly managed to bring his attention back to the conversation. "I mean, he may think that family doesn't matter, but with an ancestry peppered with Slytherins and Dark Wizards, well, you'd have to be blind to ignore it. She's always been pretending to be Dumbledore's pet, but where her loyalties lie is obvious." Draco snorted.  
  
"She was related to Grindelwald not too obscurely, wasn't she?" said Kat.  
  
"Best friends with Almeda Lestrange." Kat wasn't the only one with extensive knowledge that wasn't technically her business.  
  
"Yes," Kat acknowledged. "But then, so was Lily Potter."  
  
"Was she really?" Draco smiled. "I know Wogny and her friends used to tease my father back when they were at Hogwarts, but he's never mentioned Lily Potter."  
  
"Well-kept secret." Kat was impressed that there were any secrets kept well enough that Draco didn't know of them. Both of them had heard so many stories at home that they had encyclopedic knowledge of everyone who was anyone in the wizard world.  
  
"Mrs. Potter was just a Mudblood, so I can see why my father wouldn't want to talk about any connections he had with her kind."  
  
"You know, the Parkinson's can't trace their name back to a time when they weren't wizards," Pansy Parkinson cut in, causing both Draco and Kat to jump. "Draco, a word?" she said, though her inflection lacked any question qualities.  
  
Draco turned to see what Kat's reaction was, but she was already gone, pulling her trunk into the train. She had left Draco to be berated by his jealous girlfriend. Draco tried to pretend to listen to what Pansy was saying, but her droning made even pseudo-focus difficult. He knew perfectly well how pure her lineage was; that was why he had been instructed to treat her the way he did. But Draco was too similar to the father who had raised him. He didn't want to have to endure the egregious sin of being bored when he didn't devise the plan that required it. Pansy had been becoming entirely dull lately. He didn't really care if she was "pure". His father could date Pansy if she was so good a catch. He knew that if they ever considered marriage, it would be because the Parkinson's needed the Malfoys, and not the other way around.  
  
Abruptly, so she wouldn't grab his arm or anything equally degrading, Draco turned away from Pansy and began loading his own trunk on to the train, Pansy hissing annoyingly at him to come back.  
  
* * *  
  
As the Weasleys entered the station, they saw a young woman who had obviously planted herself at the barrier leading to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She wore a grey shirt with blue lettering that said "Order of Merlin" over her robe, which made her look like a Muggle woman in a skirt.  
  
"Oh, lovely," said Mrs. Weasley seeing her, "That's a relief."  
  
"What's a relief? That the woman over there is going to give everything away?" Ron asked.  
  
"The Muggles will just think that she's a fantasy fanatic," said George.  
  
"Yeah, there are loads of weirdos in London- I bet she blends right in," said Fred.  
  
"Do they give you a T-shirt when you achieve Order of Merlin?" asked Harry, frowning. Ginny laughed.  
  
"Of course not. She probably charmed it herself."  
  
"Mrs. Weasley." The witch had spotted them and smiled in acknowledgment.  
  
"Did Dumbledore send you as an escort?" Mrs. Weasley asked. The young woman nodded.  
  
"All right, Mr. Potter?" She asked it with concern, but not warmly or as though they were long lost friends, as many adults liked to do when first introduced to Harry.  
  
Harry was sick of people worrying about him, but he nodded. Like most people, that first thing her eyes flew to was his scar. She shut her eyes in mental reproach, and then turned back to Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Any trouble getting here?" she asked.  
  
"Nothing more than the traffic-" Mrs. Weasley stopped when a large man a bit older than the woman in the Order of Merlin shirt came up and put an arm around the woman's shoulder.  
  
"Ilana, what would you be doing out here all alone? I've heard that Muggle men can be quite dangerous. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you." His eyes slid casually to the Weasleys, and it seemed like they intended to slide their way right on back to the woman, but then the man saw Harry. The man was the same one who had driven Harry to the Weasleys. He looked angry to see Harry, and this emotion increased when the woman said:  
  
"If I can't defend myself from Muggles, Mr. Goyle, then what am I doing teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to students this year? I shouldn't want your son not to be able to protect himself from Dark wizards. Oh, look. Is that your wife?" Mr. Goyle didn't even bother to strain his neck in the direction the young woman indicated, but promptly Dissapparated. Mrs. Weasley and the young witch scanned the crowd to make sure that no Muggles had noticed his disappearance, which they thankfully hadn't.  
  
"Mr. Goyle?" Ron asked with a sneer. "I see where Malfoy's friends get their good looks."  
  
"That man drives a Ministry limousine," Harry began laughing. Ron suddenly looked very excited, glancing around for young Goyle, not caring about how stupid it would be to provoke such a creature.  
  
"You didn't know who that man was?" The young woman noticed. "In light of what you've learned Mrs. Weasley, I should think that you would have familiarized your children with all of those even slightly suspected of being Death Eaters." She stopped herself and shook her head slightly, as though to shake off a mood or a memory. "I'm sorry. I'm really not myself today; it's just that...well, He's coming back, and already these are dark times." She shrugged. Mrs. Weasley smiled sympathetically. The younger witch straightened. "I'm Ilana Wogny," she said, trying to sound bright. "I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts."  
  
"My husband says you're an Auror," said Mrs. Weasley. Professor Wogny nodded. "Who was your mentor?"  
  
"Alastor Moody, in fact. I'm one of many though, so it's not much to brag on. You two," she addressed the twins, who jumped, startled. "Though the barrier with you, then."  
  
"Right, Professor," George said. Fred saluted her and clicked his heels together and they walked through the barrier onto the magical platform beyond.  
  
"I just want to say that we're all very grateful for Mr. Weasley's help- all the Aurors, and I can't tell you how much good he's done for us. Now that we've got more allies, and strong, influential people in the Ministry- " Mrs. Weasley blushed at the indirect implications on Mr. Weasley's position, " we can continue the good work he began. And because of Mr. Weasley's help, we now stand a chance against He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named. Miss Weasley." The Professor glanced at Ginny and then indicated the barrier with her eyes. The girl disappeared a moment later. Harry peered up at the woman. The Professor didn't use the familiar "You- Know-Who", but she didn't look terribly stuck up or aristocratic. She had short, brownish hair, bandaged fingers, and facial features that would have been delicate if her line of work was. She trod a thin line of gracious near- attractiveness. Harry had only seen one Auror before- Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody- and Wogny was certainly less scarred than he was. She was not, of course, without her share of old cuts and bruises. Under the shirt she wore a swishy, brown robe of expensive, sturdy material that had a few deep pockets, and looked like it had been carefully sewn back together in several places.  
  
"We'll have to find Him before we suppress Him," Mrs. Weasley was saying wisely.  
  
"Which puts us in an uncomfortable position, seeing as He hasn't been seen since- well, not since the beginning of summer." Wogny finished with a quick glance at Harry. Then she said, sharper than necessary, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. The barrier." Harry and Ron ran through, and Mrs. Weasley and Professor Wogny followed soon after.  
  
As they walked toward the train, Ron was urgently scanning the platform. Harry remembered why when he heard an excited voice called out his name.  
  
"Harry! Ron!"  
  
It was Hermione of course. She ran down the platform with her hair flying out behind her. She crashed into the arms of her best friends with nothing short of mirth.  
  
"Oh, we've missed you Hermione."  
  
"Wish you could have come stayed with us for a bit of the summer."  
  
"I think Ginny got lonely."  
  
"Fred and George missed you, too."  
  
"The Burrow's not the same without you."  
  
"And considering, I've lived there my whole life and you've only come once. God only knows how my family's made it all these years. Stop talking about my house, Potter."  
  
Hermione was all smiles. Ginny and the twins certainly were glad to see her. She and Ginny hung off each other's shoulders as they all walked to the train.  
  
"Hullo, dear." Hermione managed to release Ginny long enough to hug Mrs. Weasley. "We got your letter. I hope you liked Bulgaria."  
  
"It made me appreciate home, if nothing else," said Hermione, still smiling.  
  
"Oh, no," cried Mrs. Weasley, laughing. "That awful?" She walked them to the train.  
  
"You're taller than me," Hermione noticed, looked up at Ginny, who she then accused of the egregious and intolerable impudence of the half inch the girl had gained on Hermione.  
  
Mrs. Weasley came on board to make sure that their luggage was carefully stowed away. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were in a car with several younger Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, who smiled politely as Harry went by. Ginny and Hermione eventually had to disentangle to put their trunks up. From within the train, the friends could hear Professor Wogny on the Platform conversing comfortably, as though used to hobnobbing "Narcissa Malfoy, how very lovely to see you."  
  
"Ilana! But you can't have a child going to Hogwarts," came Mrs. Malfoy's nasal voice.  
  
"No, I'm a teacher this year."  
  
"Oh, how wonderful for you-"  
  
Hermione turned from her not-so-subtle eavesdropping. "Who's that Malfoy's mother is talking to? She doesn't look important enough to associate with the World's Most Snobbish Family," she said.  
  
"She's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Ron said, glad to pitch in the information. "Didn't she introduce herself when you came through the barrier?"  
  
"No. Should she have?"  
  
"Ron," Ginny whispered. "She came through with Mum. She was probably waiting for Harry."  
  
Harry heard this, but Hermione didn't. "Listen to the way Mrs. Malfoy talks to her," Hermione noted. "You'd think she was someone quite important as far as the Malfoy's are concerned." Harry agreed with Hermione, but as the conversation between the two women didn't hold much interest or depth, he turned to help Ron with his trunk. He shrugged off the annoyance he felt that Dumbledore had sent an Auror specifically to protect him.  
  
At eleven o'clock, the train pulled away from the station, and the adults on the Platform Disapparated, and such was their communal wizardly grace, that an outside observer might have compared with to falling rain easing into the earth. Hermione flopped over in her seat and yawned. "I'm so tired."  
  
"No you don't." Ron poked at her arm. "You have to tell us everything that happened in Bulgaria."  
  
"Ron, didn't you get my owl? I was on a plane all night. Please, let me sleep." Hermione flipped her hand as to bat away his words.  
  
"What, too many late nights up with Krum? I can understand why you would be tired. I'm sure he's quite a handful, or should I say, mouthful-"  
  
"Stop it," said Harry, Hermione, and Ginny together.  
  
"That's gross," said Ginny.  
  
"Really, Ron," said Harry.  
  
"Leave it, Ron," said Hermione. "Not this early in the year." Ron glared at her, and then elevated his eyebrows enthusiastically and spoke again.  
  
"So, I'm guessing they aren't having the Triwizard Tournament this year," he said conversationally. Ginny and Hermione glared at him and glanced quickly at Harry.  
  
"Come off it, Ron-"  
  
"I'm not going to shatter if you talk about things like that in front of me, you know, Hermione." Harry interrupted. Hermione snapped her mouth shut and glared out of the window. Now why did I have to go and say that? Harry questioned himself. Harry knew Hermione was trying to be nice, but there were too many people coddling him now for his liking. He was 15; certainly not a grown man, but old enough that he didn't need to be protected from Ron.  
  
"I was just joking," murmured Ron. "You were all getting angry at me and I was just trying to point out-"  
  
"That we should be grateful you're not worse?" Ginny started, but cut herself off. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the door, which had just slid open as what looked like a miniature dementor floated in.  
  
"Potter, Potter, I'm going to get you!" A voice beyond the door wailed.  
  
"Cute, Malfoy. Too bad you couldn't think that up two years ago. It's kind of old now," Ron called to the obvious owner of the voice.  
  
"Well, Weasley, what can I say?" Malfoy entered the car and the illusion of the dementor disappeared in wisps of smoke that curved up around his body. "I've got talent, and my blood is neither disgraced nor muddied. Compared to the three of you, I think I've earned break.  
  
"Poor Potter," he continued as Ron jumped up from his seat. "Your only friends are a Mudblood and a resident of -what's your house called Weasley? Isn't it the Warren or something? - who doesn't even have decent self control." Malfoy looked ingenuinely sorry for Harry. Ron did not know if hexing Malfoy would only corroborate the statement, so he just stood there looking particularly unfriendly for a moment or two.  
  
"At least Harry's friends' I.Q.'s aren't only barely hovering in the single digits," snapped Ginny as Crabbe and Goyle stumbled in.  
  
"At least my friends parents head departments in the Ministry instead of driving cabs for it," Harry met Malfoy's eyes evenly. Goyle looked about to protest, but Malfoy stayed him with a glance.  
  
"You've enchanted the girlfriend to rise to your defense too?" Malfoy sneered, ignoring Harry like a wolf honing in on supposedly weaker prey. "Why does the Lilliputian continue to pop up in such annoying fashions? And speaking of popping up," Malfoy gazed pointedly at Ginny's chest.  
  
"Think you've got an answer to everything we throw at you, Malfoy?" Ginny angrily raised her wand to hex him, but she was aided by the curses and bodies of the other students in the car, who flung themselves at the three Slytherins. As the row escalated, the witch with the food cart arrived at their car. She took in the situation as one was almost used to it, and in the end she was staring quietly at the members of the car who were all dangling from the ceiling from thick green vines.  
  
"Who was the cause of this?" she asked, patiently. When the majority indicated Malfoy, the old witch made him drop lightly from the ceiling. "Move along, then. You can make your purchases from the next car." Malfoy stomped out, and waited for Crabbe and Goyle just beyond the door in the successive car. "Now, anyone for Chocolate Frogs?" asked the witch. There was a lot of noise of assent from the ceiling, and finally the witch dropped everyone as she had done Malfoy and let them buy their sweets. Crabbe and Goyle dashed to where Malfoy was waiting for them.  
  
Malfoy seemed eager to fight, because he kept trying to get back into Ron, Harry, and Hermione's car. His remark to Ginny, however, had successfully angered the other students to the extent of purging the car of him each time.  
  
"Picking on the Gryffindors again?" It was Kat, watching Draco as he was tossed out once more. "Really, Draco, do get a hobby." He whirled and glared at her.  
  
"You treacherous, shrewish-" he started.  
  
"Oh come now, Draco. The purpose of friends is to have someone who'll point out your shortcomings so you don't display them to the real world." He continued to glare. "Really, no appreciation at all. Look, you want to play Jah Mong? We can do some criticizing of one another and call it even."  
  
"Fine," he said, cooling, as Crabbe and Goyle, stuck in Harry's train car, signaled to him for help as they had their teeth turned to wood. If they couldn't figure out on their own to bite their hexers, then they were too far beyond Draco's ability to help them anyway.  
  
As he and Kat arranged the floating Jah Mong tiles in front of them, Kat asked, "So what's wrong with you today?"  
  
"Nothing," was the harsh reply. His eyes were hard and did not meet hers, and his mouth was a thin line.  
  
"This isn't about the Gryffindors," she guessed. "Pansy can't be that upsetting."  
  
"Upsetting her can be," Draco replied. Kat peered out at him behind her black wavy hair.  
  
"I wouldn't know; Pansy and I aren't that close," she remarked.  
  
"Hey, same here," Draco raised his head with a cute smirk, as though it was a fantastic coincidence. He began drawing tiles. Jah Mong was two-person game, instead of for four as with its Muggle counterpart. All the phrases and names associated with the game had been changed around by proud wizards who hadn't wanted to admit that they had stolen the game from Muggles.  
  
"Gotta be quick," Kat chuckled as the tile she had just discarded became wreathed in flame just as Draco reached from it.  
  
"Sure you haven't tampered with your set? Mine's a bit more generous time- wise," Draco commented while quickly drawing back his hand.  
  
"Does your family play?" Kat asked politely.  
  
"No, but going solitaire is more interesting anyway," he answered drawing a tile.  
  
Kat chuckled softly. Soon he would be regaling her with stories of how talented he was at playing chess again himself.  
  
"Well I play against my family. My father cheats something awful," she said.  
  
"Mine takes my tiles away from me when he's punishing me for this or that."  
  
"Does blowing off Pansy count as 'this or that'?"  
  
"Yeah, probably, but I don't bring my set to school, so Merlin only knows what he'll do to me."  
  
"What will he do to you?" Kat asked cautiously. She did not know what sort of man Lucius Malfoy was.  
  
Drago shrugged dismissively and looked at his tiles. "Do you play Jah Mong a lot?" he asked.  
  
"I can never find a partner. And are you going to play or what?" She acknowledged that he didn't want to talk about his father, but she was just a little bit annoyed that the game wasn't going as fast as it usually would.  
  
"Yeah, I'm going to play." He laid out his winning hand. She had to buy him a pumpkin pastry in lieu of his victory, but he wound up giving her more than half of it as they sat and talked.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry's friends were far less comfortable than the pastry eating Slytherins, and Harry knew this was caused by the fact that he hadn't told them about what had happened with Cedric and Voldemort in the graveyard that night in June. He didn't feel like telling them, especially with Ginny there, but he didn't like how uncomfortable the train ride was becoming. There was about an hour left when he decided to induce some sort of conversation from his friends.  
  
"So, a female Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."  
  
"Something wrong with that?" Hermione asked just a little snappily.  
  
"Not at all," Harry said quickly.  
  
"You heard Mum say she's an Auror?" Ginny was impressed. "I hope she's a good teacher."  
  
"If she's nothing like Moody- or fake Moody or whoever he was- I don't care what she's like as long as she doesn't give too much homework," Ron said.  
  
"As long as she's nothing like Lockhart I'll be content," Harry said, giving Hermione a mischievous glance.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "What about Quirrell? I'll take arrogance over evil any day."  
  
"You'll take looks any day," Ron muttered.  
  
"You're one to talk, M'sieur Delacour," Hermione retorted, the humor leaving her face.  
  
Ron and Hermione were not taking the situation as lightly as would be expected, but before either could speak again, Ginny cut in. "If we're going to talk about last year, you should all be thankful that none of you went to Triwizard Ball with Neville. My feet were sore a week afterwards," she said, glancing around to make sure that the boy wasn't in hearing distance.  
  
"Oh and speaking of Triwizard Ball partners-" but Ginny cut Ron off with a knuckle to the head. Play fighting and constant changes of subject by Ginny or Harry kept the atmosphere bearably light until the Hogwarts Express pulled into its station. The sight of the castle, the lake, and the grounds meant that everything would be as all right as possible for another term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 


End file.
